


Anthony Stark as Painted by Steven Rogers

by positronic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dialogue Light, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M, Painting, Portraits, inspired by Portrait of a Lady on Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/positronic/pseuds/positronic
Summary: Steven feels like his whole body has been cut open, like his whole entire being is on display for Anthony’s eyes only. Anthony is meant to be the subject, here, not him, yet Steven can practically feel Anthony’s gaze boring into him, digging under his skin and threatening to spill all of the secrets Steven doesn’t even know he has.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	Anthony Stark as Painted by Steven Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> This is HEAVILY inspired by the French film _Portrait of a Lady on Fire,_ thanks to a convo in the POTS discord. No spoilers for the film, really, but if you can, I think everyone should watch it. It's incredible and one of the best movies I've ever seen. 
> 
> This was mainly an excuse for me to write some poetic stuff because I LIVE on it. 
> 
> Thanks to ressurectedhippo for the beta and to Mairi and Tony for the inspo! <3

Steven feels like his whole body has been cut open, like his whole entire being is on display for Anthony’s eyes only. Anthony is meant to be the subject, here, not him, yet Steven can practically feel Anthony’s gaze boring into him, digging under his skin and threatening to spill all of the secrets Steven doesn’t even know he has. 

The afternoon sun is filtering in through the old windows, basking the room in a warm glow, making Anthony’s skin shine with the beauty of it. It highlights the sharp jut of his jaw, the tension there so evident that Steven can tell Anthony is holding back. 

He knows Anthony does not want to be here. Does not want Steven here. The harsh conversation Steven had overheard between Anthony and his father the day he arrived had confirmed that, but Anthony seemed to have accepted it. He had spoken but a few words to Steven since he arrived, despite Steven’s attempts to engage him in a conversation, despite the hours they’ve spent together in this room while Steven paints him. 

The room is starting to feel stuffy as they're wrapping up this session, the final one, with Steven filling in the final details of the piece. Steven knows the piece was done minutes ago; he could stop, now, and the painting would still be the best thing he’s ever created. 

But Steven can’t stop himself from adding more details, paying more attention to the shades of pink on Anthony’s lips, bright from being bitten in impatience; the slight curl of his hair against his temples; the bright specks of gold in his otherwise dark eyes, only lit up by the sun hitting them just right; the slight, almost unnoticeable curve to his lips and brow that is so simultaneously seductive and wild that it sends Steven’s world on its axis. 

Anthony is currently dressed in the same outfit he’s worn for all of these sittings, his suit a deep, forest green that makes him look so elegant that Steven has to swallow around the lump in his throat. It exudes royalty in a way Steven has never seen before, but he can tell how much Anthony hates it. Every single time he puts it on he glares at it, and outside of their sessions, Tony never wears green, always golds and blacks with a hint of red. 

Steve’s eyes drift down to Anthony’s hands where they’re clasped in his lap. The knuckles turn a shade of white every so often as Anthony clenches his hands, likely frustrated and eager to be done with all of these sessions. 

Though, he’s a lot more calm than he has been. The first few days, Steven could barely get Anthony to sit down long enough to get anything on the canvas, and he constantly fidgeted and adjusted himself, trying to find a comfortable position. After a few moments, Steven had given up on him being still and walked to him, positioning Anthony himself. Anthony had frozen at the contact, but let Steven arrange his limbs the way he saw fit. Once he had returned to the canvas, he had noticed the faint blush on Anthony’s cheeks, but didn’t comment on it.

Since then, something had shifted between them. Despite the few words shared out loud, now it’s like every sitting is a conversation in its own, each breath in the quiet room the sharing of a memory, each lock of eyes an admission. 

Anthony must notice Steven’s gaze on his hands again because he makes the effort to relax them. Steven takes one last look at them, the strength in them, the multitude of scars there from his passion for metalworking (one of the few things he had been willing to talk about). His eyes jump to his portrayal of them on the canvas, and he can’t help but scowl a little. 

They’re the best hands he’s ever painted, but only because they’re Anthony’s. His painting does nothing to portray the character apparent in those palms, those long, slender fingers. 

Steven’s eyes leave the canvas and meet Anthony’s, who is already staring back at him. The eye contact makes something fizzle down his spine, a warmth curl into his belly as he feels the heat fill him up. He tightens his grip on the paintbrush minutely, afraid he might drop it.

Anthony must see something in his eyes, his expression, because the corner of his lips kick up and he tilts his head just a fraction, amused, but questioning. 

Steven shakes his head, both to clear his head and to dismiss whatever Anthony must be thinking. He looks back and forth between his painting and Anthony. Soon, they’ll be without daylight, and Steven doesn’t think he can make excuses for a whole nother day’s worth of sitting. He knows he could spend the rest of his life here, trying to get the mischief in Anthony’s eyes on canvas, while he stares at Steven like he’s a puzzle he can’t solve, but the two of them are living on borrowed time. 

In only a short time, Steven will have to leave, and Anthony will be off to wed a woman he’s never met. 

Nothing here matters, really.

Except, it does.

Except, Steven has felt nothing like this before. 

Except, being in Anthony’s presence makes Steven feel like fire has filled his veins and there’s light in his heart.

Except, that Steven feels the warmest he’s felt in a long time. 

Steven swallows around the lump in his throat again, and puts the paint brush down. 

“It’s done,” he says, voice rougher than he means it to be. He clears his throat.

Anthony’s face goes carefully blank at that, and he stands up from his position on the chair slowly. He holds himself up against it for a moment, as he regains feeling in his legs, but walks over to Steven and the canvas, smooth as ever. 

Steven can’t keep his eyes off Anthony as he moves, like he’s a beacon calling Steven home. Anthony keeps his eyes on Steven as he walks around to the over side of the canvas, breaking eye contact with him as he looks to the finished painting. 

Anthony goes still as he looks at it. His eyes widen and his breath catches in his throat, lips parting in shock, before he seems to catch himself and he schools his expression into something that tries to be emotionless. 

But, Steven can see all of his thoughts on his face. He’s spent so long staring at Anthony that he knows what to look for, now. He can still see the surprise in Anthony’s eyes, the way they dance all over the canvas, like he can’t decide what to focus on first. His breathing gets slightly heavier, and Steven can see his eyes start to water, shimmering with it. Steven can feel the sweat building up on his own palms, and he wipes them against his pants. 

After a few long moments, Anthony turns to look at him, slowly. There are tears running down his cheeks, but they’re bright in a way Steven hasn’t seen before. It almost looks like relief, if Steven had to put a name to it. He sees Anthony swallow thickly.

Anthony opens his mouth like he’s trying to say something, but closes it after a second. He takes a breath and takes a step toward Steven, bringing a hand up to cup his jaw. He stands on his toes and drags Steven into a kiss.

At the first press of their lips, Steven feels all of the tension melt out of him. He brings his own hands to hold either side of Anthony’s face, thumbs rubbing against his cheek softly. He holds Anthony close to him, sliding his tongue into Anthony’s mouth, to which Anthony responds eagerly; it’s like they’re trying to devour each other, in a way that’s both carnal and gentle at the same time.

It’s the best thing Steven’s ever felt.

They both pull away after a few moments, leaning their foreheads against each other, panting softly. Steven opens his eyes to see Anthony looking up at him, eyes bright and dancing, and Steven feels his heart thundering in his chest.

In the back of his head, Steven can hear the clock ticking on their time together. He knows it’s selfish, and bound to end in pain for the both of them, but he can’t stop himself from pressing another kiss to Anthony’s waiting lips. 


End file.
